Sinking Stones
by WafflesnRizzles
Summary: After choosing her biological father over her best friend, Maura has no choice but to disappear. After two years in hiding, she is ready to come back-as the new head of the Irish mob. Takes place after 2x15. Eventual Rizzles.
1. Chapter 1

**__This is my first fanfic in five or six years, so I apologize if it's sub-par. I just want to thank all of you wonderful Rizzles fans who have posted magnificent stories. You've inspired me to no end. **

**Disclaimer: Yeah, I don't own anything Rizzoli and Isles...but damn do they own me! **

* * *

_Jane watched as Maura quaveringly hunched over the body of the fast-dying Patty Doyle. The man she had just shot. The biological father of her best friend, the woman she had just betrayed._

_ Jane knelt just a yard away, frozen and unaware of anything but the echo of Maura's scream in her ears and the feeling of her heart compressing to nonentity._

_Seeing the other detectives inching closer, Maura's eyes grew wild. She opened her mouth to scream something else, looked down at the mobster, then closed it again._

_She took a deep breath. "Get me a car, please," she said quietly to Frost. "We can't take him to a regular hospital. He has too many enemies."_

_Frost cast a questioning glance to Korsak and Gabriel. Both nodded their approval. While the exchange was going on, Maura's hand slipped unseen underneath Doyle's body, into the front of her waistband, and back to her side again._

_Jane saw Doyle shake his head no at Maura, and she wondered vaguely what he was telling his daughter not to do._

_Jane watched, still immobile, as Frost and Frankie helped lift Doyle up and out of the factory. She heard them lift him into the vehicle according to Maura's calm instructions. And then she heard Maura's voice._

_"Now none of you move. I mean none of you. I will shoot you if I have to, and we all know that's not something I want to have to do. I'm sorry. You don't understand, but I have to do this."_

_And with that, Jane heard a door slam shut and a car peal off. In the few seconds of silence that followed, Jane felt a stone settle in the place her heart had, only minutes before, resided._

* * *

It smelled like rotting fish and petroleum. Jane crumpled up the beer can in her fist and hurled it with as much force as she could into the water that was quietly lapping against the dock. She was pretty sure she had almost just stepped on a rat.

A rat. Maura autopsied one of those for her in the heroin case. Necropsy. Maura had called it a necropsy.

"Fuck," Jane rasped, kicking at the muddy puddle under her feet.

It had been two years and fifty-seven days since Maura had disappeared on her. The hateful expression on Maura's face flooded her vision, causing the stone in her chest to sink painfully lower.

"FUCK!" Jane screamed, looking around for anyone she could use as her personal punching bag.

She couldn't even find the rat that had invaded her space. Instead, she punched the wall she was leaning up against and barely winced as she felt a knuckle fracture.

Nothing a bottle of Jack wouldn't take care of.

She began walking toward the 24-hour liquor store. She kept her hand on her gun, ready for any of the drunkards and perverts she would undoubtedly encounter.

"Hey, Vanilla," a voice said from somewhere in the darkness. In this part of town, working lampposts were few and far between, something Jane was rather appreciative of because she couldn't remember the last time she had taken a shower.

"Whoa, whoa. Don't shoot. It's your boy," Rondo said, coming out with his hands up from the alley next to the Grab-n-Go. "Just got a bottle. I know you be wantin' some."

"Give it."

She took a swig. "Have you heard anything?"

"Well…I don't know…I might have…"

Jane shoved a Hamilton into his shirt pocket. She took another swig.

"I heard that Madden has stepped down."

Jane shoved a Jackson into the pocket. Another swig.

"And that someone else has taken over."

Another Jackson. He paused.

"Well?" Jane demanded.

"My memory's a little fuzzy. I think I need something to help me remember the rest…"

She pulled three bills at random out from her pocket, shoved them in his pocket and grabbed his shirt collar.

"Tell me. Is this someone a woman?"

"Okay, okay. It is."

"And is this someone a certain Doctor Maura Isles?"

He paused, took one look at Jane's set jaw, and nodded slowly. "It's Maura Doyle now."

Her eyes flashed briefly in victory, but she maintained her grip on him, "Where is she?"

"I don't know, Vanilla."

She shook him. The scotch sloshed out of the bottle and onto his hand.

"I'll see what I can do! Jeeze. You'd think you were in love with her or somethin."

The look that passed across Jane's face was unmistakable.

"Well, well, well, Vanilla. You do! Well I'll be. Vanilla's battin for the other team."

Jane balled her fist to punch him.

"Naw, naw, it's cool. I find it hot."

"Go," Jane ordered. "Find her, and I'll make it worth your while."

"Mmmhmm. I've always wanted to see two ladies get it on," he said when he knew he was out of her reach.

"SHUT IT."

She walked slowly into the graveyard, two large, expensive bouquets nestled into the crook of her left arm. She wandered among the headstones until she found the two that she was looking for: **Paddy Doyle** and **Constance Isles**.

Each already had a fresh bouquet of flowers.

"Daddy, I'm back," Maura said, laying one of the bouquets down in front of the headstone.

Jane watched as a dark figure entered the cemetery. She heard familiar clack of the heels against the asphalt, saw the tantalizing sway of figure's hips and felt the familiar clench in her chest.

Maura.

Jane watched as the woman kneeled in front of the two headstones she knew so well. She had visited them every day for over two years, waiting impatiently for the day that she would see the vision in front of her.

She heard the soft, calm voice of the doctor break through the stillness of the night and felt herself engulfed in all of the emotions she had used a bottle to keep at bay for so long.

She turned and ran.

* * *

A sob pealed through the night air. Maura's head shot up and she spotted a lanky, womanly figure sprinting toward the back gate of the cemetery.

Jane.

Maura stood up to shout her name, but it died on her lips, a place it hadn't passed for two years and fifty-eight days. She put a hand over her aching heart and collapsed to the ground, shocked to feel her resolve disintegrate so quickly.

_Maybe I'm not ready, after all._

* * *

"It's about respect, Maura! It's about honor! He was your father." Madden sat back in his chair and looked closely at the woman sitting in front of him, wondering if the doctor actually had the guts to go through with it. "It's the only way."

_They must die, and I am the one that needs to do it. They killed my father._

Maura repeated the mantra over and over in her head until she felt her resolve slowly return. She was a fugitive, wanted in most of the world's countries.

It was this, or jail. She had given up on the law when she chose her father. This _was_ the only way.

She looked at the scalpel resting innocuously in her hands. She imagined the Y incision on Gabriel's chest and felt a thrill of satisfaction.

"He dies first. Where is he?"

"Come right this way."

Maura allowed herself to be led into the back of a car. Her bodyguard, Sam, settled himself in the passenger's seat and she breathed a sigh of relief.

Over the past couple of years, she'd grown to really trust the man who had once protected her father. He had proven himself to be loyal to her time and again, and was the only one who knew the secret that was corroding her heart.

He gave her a curt nod, one she knew that conveyed the sincerest encouragement, and she tightened her hold on the scalpel in her hand.

The car drove up to a small airplane hangar. As she sat in the car, a small plane taxied out. Sam climbed out and held the door open for Maura, who took his hand. He squeezed it reassuringly and she smiled gratefully at him.

BAM!

A round of gunshots sprayed wildly in the air, and before Maura could register what was happening, Sam was shoving her back inside the vehicle and closing the door.

The car raced flush up against the plane and Sam pulled her back out, shielding her petite body with his much larger one. The plane was taking off before the door was even closed.

_What was that?_ Maura wondered.

Sam and her driver were trying to shout at each other over the din of the plane. They were looking out the windows over their shoulders, trying to figure out who fired the shots.

Maura picked up the remaining two headsets and placed them in the two men's' laps, motioning them to put them on. She motioned toward the microphone.

"Well, fuck, this is better," Sam said over the radio.

"Glad to be of help." Maura said. She let the now-muted sound of the airplane slowly calm her nerves. "Now please explain what that was."

"Maura…what does Jane Rizzoli look like?"

Maura winced at the name.

"Tall. Lanky. Brown curly hair. A constant fashion disaster."

Sam and the driver exchanged a look that Maura didn't miss.

"Was it her?"

"Maura, pilot, please take off your headsets," Sam requested.

"TELL ME," Maura insisted, turning fully to face her friend.

"Maura, please, I need to speak with him for a second. Then I'll tell you."

Maura slowly took off the headset and placed it by her feet. The pilot followed suit.

The two men exchanged heated words for a minute or two. Finally, Sam heaved a defeated sigh and took off the headphones.

He placed a comforting hand on Maura's shoulder and motioned for both her and the pilot to put their headsets back on.

"Well?"

"Jane was there. Clutching an AK-47."


	2. Chapter 2

**My inspiration is usually very short-lived, but here I am with Chapter two. I'm having a fun time writing this, so I hope at least some of you have a nice time reading it! I've gotten far more views than I could have hoped for, so I thank you all. **

**Disclaimer: Not my characters and all that jazz. **

* * *

Jane's mind was racing. She knew she had only seconds before the shot radar would go off at the police station and only minutes before the police would arrive.

She looked around to make sure that she had left no trace of herself. She snapped on a pair of gloves—she always carried them in her pocket—and steeled herself before digging her finger into the exit wound and extracting the bullet. The last thing she needed was to be implicated in the murder of a member of one of Maura's rival mobs.

She left the body of the Italian lying in the behind the bush where it fell, surprised at her own lack of remorse.

_He tried to kill Maura._ That was all the justification she needed.

She unscrewed her license plate, threw her fake one in the back window and cut across the four runways. Just as she pulled onto the main road, she heard the sound of police sirens.

She took a few smaller roads and found the parking garage she was looking for. She parked her car, screwed the old license plate in again and removed the false one.

_I'm getting too good at this. _

For months now, Jane had been honing her camouflage skills as a private investigator. She would tail wives, husbands, sons, daughters, coworkers, and, once, a neighbor's pesky pet rabbit.

She was riding mostly on her reputation with the clients she got: she spent most of her time drinking and not much time investigating.

Which is why it had been two years since she had deserted her desk in the bullpen. Her friends and colleagues had tried their best to get her into therapy, sober programs and stage their own interventions. All she wanted was to be left alone.

Her ma threatened to move into Jane's apartment. Frankie started tailing her after work to make sure she didn't get into any trouble. She always managed to, anyhow.

Korsak tried giving her a new puppy.

Frost tried dressing up as Maura and comically tried to emulate her, desperate for a smile or laugh from the "old" Jane, the one who had Maura.

Nobody could get near her.

When she was sober enough to take up a case, she would invariably run into people and situations that would remind her of Maura. And then she would start drinking. And then she would start wandering around the more briny side of Boston, asking around about the Irish mob.

That gets you into some trouble. Jane couldn't remember the number of times she had woken up bloodied in an alleyway. Or the number of times she'd left someone in the same state.

She couldn't remember the day of the week or what month it was or when the last time she ate a real meal was. But she could remember to the minute the last time she saw Maura Isles.

She could remember her smell, too. And the way she would smile and the tone of her voice when she was googlemouthing and the confounded look she would give Jane when she was unsure of her sarcasm.

Fuck.

The curve of her ass when she would wear her yoga pants. The "v" of her breasts when she was wearing a date outfit.

It was always Ian or Giovanni or Tommy or Fairfield or that stupid yoga instructor. And her sex-is-good-for-your-health schpeal.

_I'd keep you healthy, Maura. _

Damn it.

Her hands gripped tighter on the wheel and she drove for the next couple of hours at random, making stops into whatever gas stations and stores struck her fancy to ensure she wasn't being followed.

_God, I need a drink. _

She parked her car a few blocks away from her favorite bar and breathed a sigh of relief when the familiar smell of dust, smoke and stale alcohol hit her nostrils.

The Patriots game was playing silently on a TV in the corner of the bar, but she was far too focused on getting some relief for the pain that was clawing inside her chest to care much.

The barstool stuck a little on the grimy floor as she pulled it out to sit on it.

"The Patriots are up 14-0. Just scored," the bartender said conversationally to her.

She grunted.

Her eyes met the bartender's as soon as they adjusted to the dim, smoky light.

"Oh, it's you. I'll line 'em up for ya, Rizzoli."

* * *

Maura felt safer in D.C.

She was just another body, clogging up the museums, the benches and the streets. She wasn't the former Chief Medical Examiner of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, nor was she the daughter of the famous mobster Paddy Doyle. She was just Maura, and barely that.

For a few minutes, she let herself close her eyes and revel in the feeling of the cracked leather under her legs in the taxi. She was sick of riding in armored cars driven by criminals.

_She is on a trip to the capitol on another routine case with Jane. The two of them are sitting in a cab, being driven to their hotel room, where they would take a quick rest before pursuing their investigation once more. Jane's knee is lightly touching Maura's, sending warmth all the way up her leg and into her core. She would squeeze Jane's hand firmly in reassurance that they would catch the murderer, but then would conveniently forget to unclasp her grip on the detective's long, capable fingers… _

She felt the cab stop and reluctantly opened her eyes. Who was she kidding—she was a criminal now, too.

And she was about to become a murderess.

Once in their hotel room, Sam told Maura the plan that Madden had lain out for them. Maura was to do it quickly and cleanly, a gunshot to the head.

When Sam placed the gun in her hands, all Maura could do is remember the last time she held one, when she had it pointed at her co-workers and her friends. The moment that pivoted her life completely.

No. That wasn't the moment. The vision of Jane's hurt face thundered through her head, which she grasped in a spasm of pain.

"Maura, are you okay?" Sam asked, peering concernedly into her face.

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine. I, uh. I…it was Jane again," Maura admitted. It had been over two years and it still hurt as acutely as it did the first day.

Sam nodded in understanding, and placed his large hand over her hand that was loosely clutching the gun. "If there were any other way…" he said.

"I know. This is my life now."

A life of crime.

A life without Jane.

Her eyes hardened. She pulled the scalpel out from her breast pocket.

"Would you sharpen this for me? I'm going to make sure Gabriel regrets taking that shot."

She stopped the cab a few blocks away from Gabriel's flat. She looked in the cab's rearview mirror and felt comforted by the sight of Sam and her driver getting out of the cab behind her.

The building was unlocked. It was small, like D.C. buildings tend to be, and smelled like Sunday football: beer and chicken wings. Maura walked up three flights of narrow stairs, the wood groaning every so often under her heels and making her heart race, lest anyone should see her.

She knocked on door 4B, covering the peephole with a gloved hand. She could hear the sound of the Patriots game blaring from the TV inside.

"Annnnd touchdown for the Patriots! What a play! That makes it 14-0 for the Pats here in the first quarter," the TV sounded.

_I wonder if Jane is watching. _

The door cracked open. "Maura," Gabriel breathed. He opened the door wider, allowing her in. "You shouldn't be here."

"I know," Maura said, "But I needed to come here. Can I trust you?"

She tried to mask the hatred she felt. From the look on Gabriel's face, she guessed she didn't do it very well.

"Yes. Look, Maura, I know I shouldn't have been there. I know I shouldn't have taken the shot. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I didn't know he meant anything to you. I-"

Maura held her hand up to stop him. She didn't want to hear his apologies. She needed to channel the rage.

"Sit down, please. I need to tell you all that has happened to me."

Gabriel sat down in one of his two kitchen chairs, and gestured to the other one for Maura. Maura took it, and as soon as Gabriel was settled, she deftly pulled out her gun.

"Now don't move. Don't yell. I'm going to tie you to this chair and you are going to listen to me, you understand?"

Gabriel nodded slowly, but Maura could see his eyes looking around the room for any means of escape. His eyes rested on some point just over her right shoulder, and Maura knew instantly that that was where he kept his gun.

Maura pulled the zipties out of her purse and fastened Gabriel's hands and legs to the chair. She gagged him and then stepped back to admire her work. The sight of him at her mercy sent an unanticipated thrill of pleasure throughout her body. This was the man who shot her father.

And the man who had slept with Jane.

Jealousy coursed through her like an undammed river, washing her afresh with hatred.

"I'm going to kill you. But first, let me tell you why…"

* * *

"Jane. Janie! I know I promised I wouldn't come find you, but please, this is important, let me in," Frankie said, pounding on the yellowed door of apartment 1 9. The 0 had fallen off years ago and, like everything else in the building, nobody had bothered to fix it.

Jane sat on the sagging couch on the other side of the door, ignoring the pounding while she felt around in the semidarkness for the bottle opener she always kept close at hand.

"Jane, it's about Maura!" Frankie yelled, banging an open palm against the door. "We think we know where she is."

_Maura. _Jane shoved aside the empty food containers on the table in front of her and carefully placed her beer on the cleared space.

"Fucker knows how to get me," she muttered under her breath as she stalked to the door and violently opened it.

The air pulled at Frankie's face, ruffling his brown hair and contorting his mouth into an "o" shape. He was shocked.

He had actually gotten his sister to open the door.

"Tell me everything you know."

He tried not to stare at her disheveled appearance as he stepped into her dilapidated room.

"We've heard reports that Maura is back in town," he started.

Jane scowled, frustrated. Nothing she didn't already know.

"We also know that she just took a private plane to D.C. We can't figure out why."

At this, Jane started. That's where she was going! Why would she-

Suddenly it hit her.

"Gabriel. She's going to find Gabriel."

"Of course! Why didn't we think of that? Thanks, Janie! We'll get her, I promise."

He pulled his radio off his belt and depressed the button. "This is Officer Frank Rizzoli. There is reason to believe that Maura Doyle might be headed to Agent Gabriel Dean's place of residence in Washington D.C. Alert the FBI. I'll be at the station in 15."

Her brother had just referred to her best friend as Maura Doyle.

"I'm coming with you," Jane said definitively.


	3. Chapter 3

Jane's mind was racing. She knew she had only seconds before the shot radar would go off at the police station and only minutes before the police would arrive.

She looked around to make sure that she had left no trace of herself. She snapped on a pair of gloves—she always carried them in her pocket—and steeled herself before digging her finger into the exit wound and extracting the bullet.

She unscrewed her license plate and threw her fake one in the back window and cut across the four runways. Just as she pulled onto the main road, she heard the sound of police sirens.

She took a few smaller roads and found the parking garage she was looking for. She parked her car, screwed the old license plate in again and removed the false one.

_I'm getting too good at this. _

For months now, Jane had been honing her camouflage skills as a private investigator. She would tail wives, husbands, sons, daughters, coworkers, and, once, a neighbor's elusive pet rabbit.

She was riding mostly on her reputation with the clients she got: she spent most of her time drinking and not much time investigating.

Which is why it had been two years since she had deserted her desk in the bullpen. Her friends and colleagues didn't let her go without a fight. Frost, Korsak and Cavenaugh tried multiple times to get her into therapy. Her ma tried time and again to get her into sober programs, even going so far as to drop her off at a meeting with no cell phone and no wallet.

Her ma threatened to move into Jane's apartment. Frankie started tailing her after work to make sure she didn't get into any trouble. She always did.

Korsak tried giving her a new puppy.

Frost tried dressing up as Maura and comically tried to emulate her, desperate for a smile or laugh from the Jane he once knew.

Nobody could get near her.

When she was sober enough to take up a case, she would invariably run into people and situations that would remind her of Maura. And then she would start drinking. And then she would always start wandering around the more briny side of Boston, asking around about the Irish mob.

That gets you into some trouble. Jane couldn't remember the number of times she had woken up bloodied in an alleyway. Or the number of times she'd left someone in the same state.

She couldn't remember the day of the week or what month it was or when the last time she ate a real meal was. But she could remember to the minute the last time she saw Maura Isles.

She could remember her smell, too. And the way she would smile and the tone of her voice when she was googlemouthing and the confounded look she would give Jane when she was unsure of her sarcasm.

Fuck.

The curve of her ass when she would wear her yoga pants. The "v" of her breasts when she was wearing a date outfit.

It was always Ian or David or Giovanni or Tommy or Fairfield or that stupid yoga instructor. And her sex-is-good-for-your-health schpeal.

_I'd keep you healthy, Maura. _

Damn it.

Her hands gripped tighter on the wheel and she drove for the next couple of hours at random, making stops into whatever gas stations and stores struck her fancy to ensure she wasn't being followed.

_God, I need a drink. _

She parked her car a few blocks away from her favorite bar and breathed a sigh of relief when the familiar smell of dust, smoke and stale alcohol hit her nostrils.

The Patriots game was playing silently on a TV in the corner of the bar, but she was far too focused on getting some relief for the pain that was clawing inside her chest to care much.

Her eyes met the bartender's as soon as they adjusted to the dim, smoky light.

"I'll line 'em up for ya, Rizzoli."

Maura felt safer in D.C. She was just another body, clogging up the museums, the benches and the streets. She wasn't the former Chief Medical Examiner of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, nor was she the daughter of the famous mobster Paddy Doyle. She was just Maura.

For a few minutes, she let herself close her eyes and revel in the feeling of the cracked leather under her legs in the taxi. She was sick of riding in armored cars driven by criminals.

_She is on a trip to the capitol on another case with Jane. The two of them are sitting in a cab, being driven to their hotel room, where they would take a quick rest before pursuing their investigation once more. Jane's knee is lightly touching Maura's, sending warmth all the way up her leg and into her core. She would squeeze Jane's hand firmly in reassurance that they would catch the murderer, but then would conveniently forget to unclasp her grip on the detective's long, capable fingers… _

She felt the cab stop and reluctantly opened her eyes. Who was she kidding—she was a criminal now, too.

And she was about to become a murderess.

Once in their hotel room, Sam told Maura the plan that Madden had lain out for them. Maura was to do it quickly and cleanly, a gunshot to the head.

When Sam placed the gun in her hands, all Maura could do is remember the last time she held one, when she had it pointed at her co-workers and her friends. The moment that pivoted her life completely.

No. That wasn't the moment. The vision of Jane's hurt face thundered through her head, which she grasped in a spasm of pain.

"Maura, are you okay?" Sam asked, peering concernedly into her face.

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine. I, uh. I…it was Jane again," Maura admitted. It had been over two years and it still hurt as acutely as it did the first day.

Sam nodded in understanding, and placed his large hand over her hand that was loosely clutching the gun. "If there were any other way…" he said.

"I know. This is my life now."

A life of crime.

A life without Jane.

Her eyes hardened. She pulled the scalpel out from her breast pocket.

"Would you sharpen this for me? I'm going to make sure Gabriel regrets taking that shot."

She stopped the cab a few blocks away from Gabriel's flat. She looked in the cab's rearview mirror and felt comforted by the sight of Sam and her driver getting out of the cab behind her.

The building was unlocked. It was small, like D.C. buildings tend to be, and smelled like Sunday football: beer and chicken wings. Maura walked up three flights of narrow stairs, the wood groaning every so often under her heels and making her heart race, lest anyone should see her.

She knocked on door 4B, covering the peephole with a gloved hand. She could hear the sound of the Patriots game blaring from the TV inside.

"Annnnd touchdown for the Patriots! What a play! That makes it 14-0 for the Pats here in the first quarter," the TV sounded.

_I wonder if Jane is watching the game right now. _

The door cracked open. "Maura," Gabriel breathed. He opened the door wider, allowing her in. "You shouldn't be here."

"I know," Maura said, "But I needed to come here. Can I trust you?"

She tried to mask the hatred she felt. From the look on Gabriel's face, she guessed she didn't do it very well.

"Yes. Look, Maura, I know I shouldn't have been there. I know I shouldn't have taken the shot. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I didn't know he meant anything to you. I-"

Maura held her hand up to stop him. She didn't want to hear his apologies. She needed to channel the rage.

"Sit down, please. I need to tell you all that has happened to me."

Gabriel sat down in one of his two kitchen chairs, and gestured to the other one for Maura. Maura took it, and as soon as Gabriel was settled, she deftly pulled out her gun.

"Now don't move. Don't yell. I'm going to tie you to this chair and you are going to listen to me, you understand?"

Gabriel nodded slowly, but Maura could see his eyes looking around the room for any means of escape. His eyes rested on some point just over her right shoulder, and Maura knew instantly that that was where he kept his gun.

Maura pulled the zipties out of her purse and fastened Gabriel's hands and legs to the chair. She gagged him and then stepped back to admire her work. The sight of him at her mercy sent an unanticipated thrill of pleasure throughout her body. This was the man who shot her father.

And the man who had slept with Jane.

Jealousy coursed through her like an undammed river, washing her afresh with hatred.

"I'm going to kill you. But first, let me tell you why…"


End file.
